


Final Lesson

by thegreatwordologist



Series: Five Private Lessons [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Bondage, F/M, Genital Piercing, Masturbation, Nudity, Oral Sex, Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione accepts the true test of what she's learned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during Hermione's 7th year, and ignores canon past Order of the Phoenix.

Afterward, Hermione was never quite clear just how long she'd dozed, drifting on the pleasure of that explosive orgasm. He'd brushed fingers over her occasionally, testing her sensitivity. At first, they'd been nearly painful, and she'd gasped sharply, torn between jerking away and pushing closer. But as time passed, the little tests revealed the fading of that pleasure. He occupied himself with something nearby, the scent of potions ingredients floating to her and teasing at her memory. She couldn't quite think well enough to focus on the scent, but she didn't have to. She trusted him now more than ever, trusted that whatever he'd done to break her, that refusal of touch that had driven her so very wild, was in the past. And all that remained was his last lesson, accompanied by a tender, almost clinical touch and a look in his eyes that spoke of quiet completion. Had he come as well, watching her buck and arch and black out with the sheer force of her pleasure? She had no way of knowing, and he said nothing about it. It occurred to her that, other than that first night, he'd never come, never touched himself while touching her. He'd satisfied every dark impulse of her soul, laid bare mysteries about herself that she'd never suspected... but he'd kept his hands from his own body, kept their meetings focused completely on her. As lovers went, she could do far worse...

When he finally came into the room again, he was sporting a small tray, and she found she'd been right. To one side of the tray, the only thing visible from her vantage point, was a green potion bottled in glass, the stopper shaped like smoke rising from the stem of the bottle. Or perhaps like a leaf. She was a bit too far away to examine the detailing of the etched glass. But she watched anyway, not focusing so much on the bottle as on him, the deliberate grace of his movements and the nearly stern look in his eyes as he settled the tray on the bedside table. There were silver instruments on it, needles, and curious eyes slid up to his, the question in them more than a little obvious.

"Your last lesson, Miss Granger," he said, and this time it was his voice that went a little husky. She shivered at that sound, and at the thought that it was something about her that sent his silky voice down into a rough growl. Deep within her, Hermione was beginning to suspect that she was growing a little addicted to him. It was a crazy thought - he was Snape, he was her Potions Master, he was an unmitigated bastard... and he'd shown her more pleasure than she'd ever expected to know. "This lesson is a simple test, as were the others. But this one will last rather longer than the others, and require far more from you than simple mindless participation. This will require active concentration and care." Dark, hooded eyes examined her still-bound form, and she blushed faintly. But blood was rising to other areas, her nipples tightening as his eyes lingered on them before sliding lower. And then his eyes were at her center, and she felt herself swell there, felt the flesh thicken with need again. 

If his eyes on her continued to do that once she was out of this room, she was doomed...

"Indeed, you may consider this akin to your N.E.W.T.S., a final test that proves to me that you've truly learned what I've taught you those three nights," Snape was continuing, and he'd turned away from her. His pale hands were making the preparation, his arms angled at just the right height to really prevent her from seeing anything at all. "If you listen properly to every direction I give you, if you follow everything I say to the absolute letter, you may find a revelation within your soul that will guide you the rest of your life. If you do not... you will only cause difficulties for yourself. And I will not bother to correct for your mistakes." His voice grew hard, and he turned finally, that black silk in his hands once more. He'd cleaned it sometime during her drifting, for it was fluttery and smooth, unstained by sweat and tears. She shivered as he pulled it over her head, tying it behind her. When the knot tangled in angry, unwashed curls, she winced. But he'd quickly adjusted it, and soon she was laying back into the soft pillow, once more able only to feel his touch.

She quelled the brief tension flitting through her body, relaxing further as he seemed uninclined to stop and tease as before. He stroked his hand warmly over her stomach, not teasing the skin so much as comforting her, and she could tell the difference. She wondered if she were merely hyper-aware now, or if she could somehow read him better, if she had some intimate knowledge of him. Lulled by that touch, she let herself begin to drift once more, not even disturbed when he reached lower, fingers moving to part her outer lips. There was some apparatus he placed there, the metal likely warmed by his own body, and it held those lips spread so that he could see all of her. And even this didn't disturb her. After all, hadn't he had a chance to do far more than that repeatedly? What did it matter if he looked his fill anymore?

Warm, damp cloth was next, wiping over her and cleansing her. It felt so good, having him tending her, though the cloth was rougher than she might have liked, and now he was touching with clinical detachment, as though too much comfort was bad for her. She bore it silently, still drifting a bit as he dipped lower, pressing the cloth into the shadows where cheeks met bed to thoroughly clean her. She wondered, lazily, if he was going to go up farther, whether he would bathe the area between her breasts where sweat had collected, or the sides of her face where tears had left trackmarks. But he didn't. Instead, once she was cleaned, he drew the cloth away. There was a mumbled incantation, and then the sound of plastic on plastic, and she could make no sense of it until liquid, cold and shocking, poured over her cunt, splattering into the panties he'd cut off her and seeming to disappear but for the droplets still clinging to skin. She must have yelped, hissed, something, for he snorted in dignified derision at the sound. And then, for long moments, nothing.

And then he gripped the bit of skin over her clit between two fingers, stretching it nearly to pain. It felt odd, stretched out like that with the side of his thumb rubbing against her clit, rather like he was teasing her but not _enough_ , not nearly enough for what she wanted from him. She squirmed a little, and was shocked at the venomous snarl at her to be still. He hid nothing of his anger in that voice. It quailed her a little, froze her still as he remanipulated her, gripping and stretching yet again until she was biting at her bottom lip. Her teeth broke open the earlier split, blood just tinting her tongue, and she shuddered. She couldn't quite ask him what he was doing, couldn't quite dare to. All she could do was wait for it, wonder whether he really knew himself. Was this an examination? A form of torture? Something completely different?

And then there was pain, a sharp, brief sting that shot through her as he held her stretched, piercing the skin with a fine needle. She didn't know the mechanics of it, didn't dare to ask. She was biting into her lip again, whimpering softly though the pain itself was already fading as something settled into place. A bit more manipulation in that sore area, and then the hands were gone, and there was something cold _on_ her clit, just resting there and reminding her of the previous pleasure. She drew a shaken breath, then another as she worked to simply focus on what was happening. "W-what?" she whispered.

"A piercing, Miss Granger, in an entirely inconspicuous spot," Snape said, and now they were back to the satin tone, the smooth dark chocolate she loved so much. It wasn't nearly as comforting as she would have liked, not when his next action was to pour more liquid over her, liquid that burned as it slid into the pierced area, washing it clean. And then he was reaching up, tapping his wand to the side of her head, and the blindfold slithered off, resting so lightly against her throat it teased at her. She looked at him, dark red spread over cheeks and nose, up to the tip of her ears, and she didn't really understand it. Why was this embarrassing, when everything else hadn't been? But her hands were being released now, and she could finally flex her arms, could sit up cautiously and rub at wrists that sported bruises from their play. He reached around her, arm curling close as he half-supported her weight while she gathered her balance once more, and her arm brushed against him. And there it was, the proof that yes, he enjoyed this. Had he waited, each time, until she was gone before he stroked himself to climax? Had he used those panties she was paying so dearly for?

"You will heal," he informed her, ignoring the way his hips lifted a little to brush against her arm once more, or the way his own arm around her curled closer, more cradling than simply supporting. "And you will heal better, and properly, if you follow my instructions. If you do not," he added darkly, and though he trailed off, his meaning was certainly clear enough. She shivered, turning slightly to rest against his chest. As her hips turned, that was a whole new experience in sensation. The pain was still there, but the small ball resting just atop her clit _moved_ and that felt good. A soft little moan answered him to that. "Here is what you will do, Miss Granger. If you do it well, you will likely be fully healed in about six months, possibly a bit longer."

Six months. Her mind reeled a bit at the thought of what he'd done, and what she was going to undergo in the next six months. Classes. Tests. Essays. Showers in the girls' bathroom. Carefully hiding that bit of gold glinting up at her from her slit. She looked up at him in dismay, and his hand lifted to the back of her head, stroking over the tangled hair gently. "You will return to me at the two month mark, the four month mark, and a day before you step on the Hogwarts Express to return home. I will evaluate the piercing each time and inform you of any changes in your care regime." She nodded, listening to each word, committing them to memory. "You will keep the area clean, ensuring that you clean properly at least twice daily, once in the morning and once at night. Once you have cleaned the area each time, you will further use this potion to ensure that you do not suffer any particular pain or leave any area, however small, untouched." He gestured to the now half-full bottle of green liquid. "Now that I have done the initial cleaning, each application will be ten drops, five each directly to the balls on the jewelry." 

He shifted, moving to sit on the bed against the headboard, and a flick of his wand finally released her ankles. He beckoned her over, and she nestled close to him, unashamed of the way she needed his warmth right then. Curled up against his side, she slid one arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. It surprised her, distantly, that he curled his own arm around her, rather than pushing her away. "Do not touch it," he continued the lecture, and she closed her eyes, nodding. "Rotate it once a day, but otherwise, leave it alone save to clean it. Do not masturbate or have sex for the next two months. At that evaluation, I will tell you whether you are allowed to do either." There were dark warnings there, a snarl as he mentioned sex, as though the thought of her having sex with anyone else infuriated him. She rather liked that, really. "You will begin to take a potion each day at breakfast as well. You may tell your friends whatever you wish about this potion, but the true nature is that it is supplemental, giving your body the necessary minerals it will need to heal." He paused then, once more stroking her hair. When she shifted, thighs rubbing against each other and pressed closed, so that the ball rubbed her clit, she sighed softly and wondered what it would be like when there wasn't an echo of pain in the pleasure.

"Rest," he murmured roughly, the back of his head moving to rest against the stone wall. "Before you leave, take a shower." And then his eyes were closing, his hand now moving under her hair to massage the back of her neck, and she hesitated before her hand slid down ever so slowly, brushing against the half-awakened arousal housed in his pants. "Rest," he muttered again, an edge of warning coloring his voice once more, and this time, she ignored it. Instead, she rubbed slowly, hand cupping around that slowly-growing column. Her thighs squeezed together, feeling the bead rub just a little, and then she was shifting to open his pants with both hands, half-propped beside him. He sprang out as the pants parted, a pale spear jutting up from his lap and already weeping just a little with need. Her head dipped down, tongue flicking out experimentally, and he gasped sharply as she licked at his hole, tasting the fluids there before moving lower, taking the whole of his head into her mouth.

She was no expert, certainly. It was hard to be expert at something she'd never done before. But her hands were wrapped around him, rubbing up and down as her tongue swirled around the thick flesh, teasing and feeling it pulse, and she got the suspicion that she was better at it than he'd expected. Story of her life. Instead of being proud of her accomplishment, she merely listened harder, wanting to know every catch of breath and stifled gasp, needing to find out where to put pressure and where to caress. For long minutes, that's all she did, his soft sounds barely audible. And then he reached down, gripping her hair painfully and jerking her head back. A second later, he came, the force of it splattering her face and chest, lingering in her hair like glazed sugar as she blinked up at him in surprise. "No more, Hermione," he groaned softly, distant and half-aware at best, and she was stunned at the thrill that raced through her at her name on his lips. "No more."

He sagged down, and she moved to curl up against him again, reaching for her ruined, stained panties to wipe away what she could of the mess he'd made. He didn't protest as she rested her body along his, and the throb between her legs had settled to a dull, content ache. One leg lifted, the smooth limb moving to rest over his, and she thought she saw the fleeting glimpse of smile grace his lips. Only a moment, and then he was Snape again, disagreeable wizard who had little use for anyone. But she'd been changed forever...

***

Two months had come and gone. She'd gone to him for an examination, and he'd pronounced things 'all clear.' She'd taken his directions seriously, and it was with a sharp sense of relief when he told her that she was finally allowed to touch herself again, so long as she was careful. But sex was still strictly prohibited. As though she had interest in anyone but him at this point. But she'd been spoiled, and couldn't quite figure out how to explain it to him. She'd gone the eve before Valentine's Day, hoping against hope that perhaps he might take it as a hint. He hadn't. Instead, he'd summarily dismissed her with only a cursory examination and a quick replenishment of the potion she was still to use.

Four months had come and gone. She'd returned for her second examination, expecting the same treatment as the first. Instead, he'd spread her open, poking and teasing at the metal until she was squirming desperately, hips lifting to him and center wet. From there, he'd sat back, watching as she slipped her hand down, unashamedly reaching between her folds to finger herself, teasing at her clit and dipping into her entrance until she finally came with a cry. That time, she'd been allowed to shower again, but not to touch him. "No sex," he said once more, and this time, he hadn't replenished the potion. Instead, he'd said firmly, "From now on, a normal cleansing will be sufficient. Going for any length of time ignoring that area, will, however, require certain steps." She'd gone back to her room, ensuring she was alone before she fingered herself again, the climax drowning.

The day before Hogwarts Express left the station for Kings Cross, she visited him a final time. As before, he teased and tempted her, fingers buried between her curls as he 'tested' the final stage of her healing. Six months come and gone, and the elasticity was there, properly cared for and properly healed. And he'd knelt then, tonguing the beads and clit as she'd stood with legs spread, her hands gripping the metal foot of the bed she was pressed against, clinging to it as he finally tasted her. His tongue felt like nothing she'd ever been prepared for, and her keening voice told him just how good it was when he dipped lower, thrusting his tongue up into her deeply, then moving back to flick against the nub of pleasure before returning to thrust. When she went weak-legged, he swept her up and tossed her to the bed, and joined her moments later, trousers open but not gone. For the first time, he'd taken her, and she'd curled her legs around his hips, lifting herself to meet each thrust in eager need, wondering where the pain was that she'd always been promised but not missing it. Words spilled from her lips, but she couldn't hear what she was saying. And he said nothing, too focused on the joining of body and body. She'd left that night reluctantly, hurt that he hadn't asked her to stay with him, even though she understood the necessity. And that was the end of things. A few nights of bliss, lessons she'd learned about him and herself remaining in her head long past when she'd forgotten just what the proper arithmancy was for her O.W.L.S. years before. Information stayed with her, but some of it remained forever.

A year later, the day after the train had left for King's Cross, found her walking through the halls of Hogwarts, her loafers announcing her path with soft clicks. She wore a dress, long and sensible, her hair tied up in a thick braid that kept it out of her face for the most part. She paused outside a particular painting in the dungeons, listening to the silence of stone before reaching up to knock. She waited until he answered, smiling up at him as he blinked in confusion right back, and then swept past him. "Gryffindors don't stay timid forever, Professor Snape," she informed him, divesting herself of her wrap and revealing the top of her dress to be a nice, Slytherin green that brought out the faintly copper highlights of her hair. As he stared, she turned to him, draping her wrap over the back of one chair before pacing to stand just in front of him. "From now on, Severus... we're equals." And then she reached up, curling a delicate hand around the back of his head and tugging him down into a kiss.


End file.
